As Wonderful As You Seem
by Millennium Biscuit
Summary: (Thor x Lady Loki) Thor falls in love with a woman who won't tell him her name. Meanwhile, a mysterious illness afflicts the women of Asgardian high society.


**Fandom:** Marvel (Cinematic Universe)  
**Pairing:** Thor x Lady!Loki, Thor x nameless other women lol  
**Summary:** Thor falls in love with a woman who won't tell him her name. Meanwhile, a mysterious illness afflicts the women of Asgardian high society.  
Title is from this beautiful song. A little canon-bending obviously, as this Lady!Loki is the product of shapeshifting as opposed to Sif-body-stealing. :')  
**Warnings:** miscarriage, implied group sex, slight sexual content in general

* * *

_Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you?_  
_Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream or are you really as wonderful as you seem?_

* * *

The first week Thor sees her it's out of the corner of his eye, but immediately his head turns to watch the woman walking almost uncertainly down the stairs to the banquet. Nobody else, for some reason, seems to have noticed her. Her presence is far from certain and she seems to stick to the shadows, to the corners of the crowd, and she checks constantly over her shoulder like a prey animal separated from its herd.

"Can I help you, my lady?" he asks her, placing a hand on her forearm, and she looks up at him, as if startled, and for an odd moment he wonders if she came here for him. It wouldn't be the first time, he supposes.

"Not at all," she replies a little sourly, and pushes his hand away before she continues through the crowd.

He sees other women—many others—and enjoys their company in varying extremes. They fawn around him, sipping from goblets as warm and golden as they are themselves; but of the cold, dark beauty he met at the foot of the stairs that night he sees no more.

* * *

The second week, she melts quietly into the small crowd of women that tends to gather around Thor at such occasions and offers them a platter of drinks. Perhaps she's a serving girl, Thor thinks, but dismisses the thought; she's dressed far too well, and this time there's a confidence about her that wasn't there last time. Rather than a deer she now reminds him of a cat, effortlessly collected, as she sets the plate down and lets the others take the drinks.

She doesn't take one herself—instead, her eyes don't leave him and he smiles widely. "I remember you."

"I had hoped I was rather forgettable." She fiddles with one of the golden ornaments in her long, dark hair.

"Not so," says Thor, a little surprised. He doesn't notice the other women scowling as they sip their drinks, while the object of his attention leans ever-so-slightly against the table.

"I was afraid of that." She smiles thinly and straightens up again. "Good evening, then, Thor."

He opens his mouth to correct her, to tell her to use his title, but she's already walking away and by the time he stands up to follow she's already vanished into the crowd. He sits back down, laughs it off, and looks back at the other women. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

The three of them exchange glances and quite suddenly invent a very creative scenario which becomes prophetic later on in the evening.

* * *

The third week, she's already sitting at the table when he arrives, surrounded by several society women. She doesn't seem unhappy to brush them away when he approaches her, taking her hand to kiss it politely.

"I missed you," he says, blunt as he always is.

"Really?" She tilts her head. "I would have thought you would be more concerned with the women you saw last week. Didn't you hear what happened to them?"

He frowns. "No…"

"Ah. Never mind then." She waves a hand dismissively.

"No, tell me."

"It was _woman troubles_," she tells him conspiratorially, leaning forward, and he cringes inwardly. "I am sure you would not be interested."

"They aren't… with child?" He feels as if a stone has been dropped into the pit of his stomach. She only shakes her head. Relief sets in for a moment. Then:

"If they were, then no longer."

* * *

The fourth week, he separates her from the crowd ever so slightly and asks her name.

"Why?" She only stares at him in return with her wide green eyes, twirling a strand of her raven hair around one finger.

"I want to know you."

There's silence; then she laughs. "A witless lie if ever there was one, Odinson."

"What?"

"Why should you want to know me?" she stands slowly. "Why should you want to know any of the women you bed? I would dare to guess you cannot remember any of their names!"

Thor opens his mouth to correct her but she speaks the truth; all of their names have long since died on his tongue and the only one he longs to speak is _her_ name, the only one he does not know.

"Do you care at all for the consequences of your actions? Or are you little more than a spoiled brat who waits for his father to clean up his messes? What if they _had_ been with child? What would you have done then?!"

"How dare you—?!"

"How dare I _what_? Confront you with the _truth_?" Thor can scarcely believe his ears, but the woman seems undaunted. He should feel affronted—he does feel affronted—but more than anything he's fascinated. Never before has someone spoken to him with such audacity and cut to the quick in so little time.

"I—I never said I wanted to bed _you_!" he retorts weakly, and she turns away.

"Good," she says bitterly, and will not speak to him again no matter what he does.

So he finds another girl that night who has long dark hair and green eyes but no acid tongue or whiplash wit.

He tries to find her more beautiful. He doesn't. He offers her another drink and has one himself. He still doesn't.

Without bothering to ask her name, he sleeps with her anyway. He sees the mystery woman in his dreams and it's as if her name is on the tip of his tongue, but it isn't quite there, not quite…

(He feels a little ill the next morning, but it passes.)

* * *

The fifth week is difficult. At least fifteen women from the last banquet have suffered from unexplained bleeding and, notably, one—married, formerly five months pregnant—has lost her unborn child. The tables are oddly quiet tonight and Thor finds himself searching, turning his head anxiously, before he feels a gentle tap on his back just under his shoulder plate.

"Looking for someone?" It's her. Of course.

"I thought you were angry with me," Thor retorts stubbornly, without turning his head.

"Would you like me to leave you be, then?" He can hear the smile in her voice and can't help but look back at her to see it. He's suddenly aware of the music playing from across the room. He's suddenly offering his hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

"Not especially," she tells him, "but you did ask politely, I suppose."  
"It might liven our spirits," he suggests, gazing back at the sombre faces at the table, "in this troubling time."

"I am not troubled." She slides her hand gently into his and allows him to walk her out amongst the other dancers. He smiles at her and she averts her eyes, but once they begin Thor feels an odd rush of energy. There are moments when he's sure he is leading, then others where it feels as if perhaps _she_ is leading or even that neither of them are.

"Please tell me your name," he asks her once more as she begins to slide effortlessly from his arms.

"No," she says, but smiles and leans up to kiss the corner of his lips before she slinks off again. He follows her to the door and finds one of her golden hair decorations on the staircase, but not another trace.

* * *

The sixth week, several more women have taken ill and the banquet is made up of mostly men, holding their wives and daughters protectively to their sides. Even Thor feels a pang of apprehension in his stomach, even when his by now familiar companion finds her way to his side later on in the evening. By this stage, the other women seem to have stopped approaching him altogether, though he can't imagine why.

(He isn't awfully surprised, though, when an attempt to wind his arm around the young woman is met with derisive laughter and an artful sidestep.)

"I have something for you," he tells her, "you dropped it last week. I left it in my room—"

"Oldest trick in the book." But she seems legitimately amused. Thor latches onto this and reaches almost roughly for her hand.

"My lady," he says, "you are tormenting me. My thoughts never leave you, and I am sick with longing. If nothing else, please just tell me who you are."

She hesitates, opens her mouth, then—

"Poison!"

Their heads snap simultaneously toward the table. The amphorae has been cracked and the wine flows freely onto the floor. Thor doesn't know how they figured it out. Perhaps a magician; he feels his brother would have known such a thing right away if he ever attended such events.

"The wine has been poisoned!"

Before he can think, Thor is dragging her out of the room by her wrist and she's struggling in his grip but he scarcely even notices until they reach his quarters and she kicks him—hard—in the shin.

"Who do you think you are?! What were you doing?"

"It was not safe for you!"

"You oaf, the wine was all over the floor! It cannot hurt anyone!" To say she seems unamused would be a gross understatement. "What's more, you will have made us look suspicious! Who but a criminal would fly at the mere mention of a—"

She's cut off by his arms wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest, and looks up at him, wide eyed, as if nobody has ever done such a thing to her. Thor cannot quite believe that they have not; she's far too beautiful to be untouched, though it irks him to think of her with other men.

"My lady—"

"You need not call me that."

"But you will not tell me your name." Thor reaches up, hesitantly, to cup her cheek. He doesn't realise she's leaning in until their lips are barely an inch apart, and he sees her eyes fluttering closed. Neither of them moves forward independently; they move together and kiss more tenderly than Thor has ever been used to, with her arms wrapped loosely around his middle, his draped gently over her shoulders. When he pulls away, he sees her flushed almost childishly. "Are you—"

"It's nothing," she says firmly, and he just smiles as he pulls back, going to the dresser to retrieve the hair ornament and press it gently into her palm. She blinks down at it. "I thought you were just trying to get me into your bedroom."

"If you had really not wanted to come, I would have gone up alone to get it for you."

"Are you so sure I would not have?" She smirks up at him as she fastens the accessory back into her hair, and he finds his own cheeks flushing. "Or do you not think I would have simply vanished again by the time you returned?"

Thor doesn't dare put words into her mouth, but he holds her gently by the hips and pulls her closer again, daring to kiss her lazily, letting her hook her arms under his to pull him down closer, slender hands tangling in his hair. His hands find their way to her chest and squeeze, and as she arches her back and sighs for him so shamelessly Thor doesn't know why he bothered with the other women. Never has the urge been so strong to slide a green dress up a pale thigh, to feel warm skin under broad hands, to taste someone, to feel someone, to _have_ someone in the most intimate way possible.

Far too soon she pulls away and leaves him half hard on the foot of the bed, staring up at her. "You cannot—"

"You're right," she says, and there's almost the hint of a sob in her voice. "I cannot."

She takes a faltering step back and bolts for the door before Thor can stop her.

"Wait!"

She's out the door.

"We do not have to—please!"

He can hear her footsteps in the hall; he's running to the door.

"Who are you?!"

By the time he makes it into the hallway she's ducked out of sight.

"Do not leave me! I—"

He must have run the entire length of the palace before he realises he will never find her, but in his heart he might as well have run ten times longer.

* * *

The seventh week, she isn't there. Loki comes down to the banquet with him for one of his rare appearances and sees him scanning the room. Ever observant, he nudges his forearm and asks, "What are you doing?"

"There was a woman here…"

"There are plenty of women here, brother; more than enough for you, I should think." Loki smiles, ever tolerant of his brother's antics.

"No, she was… different."

"Different?"

"She was beautiful," Thor says. "Very beautiful."

"Is that all?" There's an edge of bitterness to Loki's voice, but Thor doesn't hear it. He's staring up at the staircase he first saw her come down as if it will summon her, lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he shakes his head.

"No. She was… clever as anything. Charming. So… fearless. I never met any woman like her."

"Any woman," asks Loki slowly, "or anyone at all?"

"Any woman," replies Thor without realising what he's just said, and to who.

"Ah." Loki smiles privately to himself.

"I think…"

"What?"

"I think I loved her," he says, strangely softly. "And yet I barely knew her at all."

"I do not think a thing like love is meant to be rational," Loki replies after a pause. "You have other concerns, do you not?"

"You're right." Thor sighs. "We ought to be more worried about the poisonings…"

"Oh, _those_." Loki seems more irritated to hear about them than anything else. When Thor frowns at him, he only rolls his eyes and takes an easy sip of his drink. "After the ruckus at last week's banquet—you could have heard it from Midgard!—one would hope whoever was doing would be clever enough to think twice about trying again. You really need not worry so much."

"But if something had happened to _her_—"

"Do not _fuss_ so, Thor!" Loki laughs, softly, almost innocently. Then he looks up at him again with a strangely gentle smile. "I'm sure she will make herself known again when you're least expecting it."

* * *

There are no more poisonings.


End file.
